


Aphenphosmphobia

by pixelizedRifles



Category: Death Note
Genre: Depression, Internal Monologue, M/M, One shot maybe, One-Sided Attraction, Phobias, another rant fic, for which i do apologize
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4472576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelizedRifles/pseuds/pixelizedRifles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aphenphosmphobia (n):  the fear of being touched; also known as Haphephobia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aphenphosmphobia

**Author's Note:**

> Errr...Another inter-monologue fic, but with death note this time. I tried using big boy words to match Near's vocabulary, but I'm not very confident about it .-. I also typed this on my phone, so please excuse any grammatical errors.

You do not like being touched.

  
It is, as a matter of fact, one of the very few things that irritates you;  makes your throat burn with the urge to scream at any foolish being that dares tread uninvited into your personal space.

  
This phobia of yours is not channeled by fear alone, but also a rather unfortunate unbalance of chemicals in your brain.

  
Depression is, in a sense, similar to schooling systems.  The pride of a business man is too afloat to see the logic that he lacks when he assigns the statistics teachers are to teach;  he's often no true experience with the task assigned, leading his efforts at a learning plan to be futile.

  
Doctors are similar in this sense, assigning medications to an illness they've never truly experienced. As confident as they may be about their treatment, they simply can never understand what goes through one's mind while in a state of major depression.

  
That is why you spend most of your time alone.

  
Very few children at the orphanage are diagnosed with depression, leaving you to be a black sheep in the midst.

  
If you're being honest, you know that it doesn't take a genius to know that you're depressed.  The ironic part is that, despite the IQs of the people around you, nobody seems to notice.  
You're assumed as a simple lone wolf, one who prefers none to little company.  Though it's not wrong in any sense, the attested theory alone is enough to make you irritable.    
How could one be lonely if they never truly knew friendship?  It almost makes you laugh at how pitiful they are, thinking themselves so intellectual for believing the simplistic of theories they've put in their heads. 

  
Loneliness is not something learned by experience, like a sport or an instrument.  It is like any other emotional response learned as a toddler.  It is observed, and then, copied.

  
It's absolutely detestable how they see you as an emotionless wall;  the other children have long stopped invited you to social events due to the thought that you really don't care for them.

  
The notion itself is impeccable.  
It's easy to forget that you're practically alone in the world when you're surrounded by your toys.  They give you something to do, a puzzle to ponder over as everyone else around you has a good time with their friends.

  
There is one who knows of your struggles.  One who, despite the pity you expected, showed great pride in your advancements in life.  He who encouraged your survival throughout every passing day with a simple smile of admiration shot in your direction.

  
A man that, despite gaining the title of the greatest detective in the world, shares your mental illness.

  
It is he whom you look up to; he who you admire for all he has done, and all he will be.  He who you have trusted with your name, and he with his.

  
He who is the closest thing to a friend you've got.

  
Though this illness, this phobia, has held you back in the long run in the sense of desiring a relationship--platonic or otherwise,-- there is one who you find yourself unmindful of sharing physical contact with...Perhaps even eager to do so.

You're surprised he hasn't figured it out yet.

  
After all this time, he remains so blissfully unaware of everything;  your phobia, your illness, all the way down to your affections.

  
You used to think that the boy himself was incapable of having a feeling of affection towards another, but you were proven wrong when he fell hard for a gamer in stripes.  Since then, there was no denying that you would never see the day where you and Mello would be "together."

  
  There is only one thing that this boy sees in you, and its a bubbling pit of hatred.  He's envious, for whatever reason, and strives to do better than you.  You don't let him, of course.  If you simply gave up and let him win, whose to say he would still care about you? Sure, he doesn't view you in a positive way.  But he thinks about you constantly, and knowing that you're on his mind as much as he's on yours is a reassuring thought.

  
Sometimes, you wonder what would happen if you disappeared.  
It'd most likely be exactly like before, when there were 3 top students instead of two.  Matt was smart, there's no denying that, but he'll never reach the level that A had been at.

  
You can see it now, Roger and the other teachers finding you alone as you always are, but with wrists stained bright red.  They'd assume you were under too much pressure, and mourn you for a week before deciding you were a relic best kept in the past.

  
You know that L would be upset with you, but that doesn't really matter when you know that Mello would be overjoyed.  You don't think he'd particularly want to be happy; hell, you're sure he'd begin to hate himself for enjoying the fact that you were finally out of his way.

  
No matter what your logic tells you, you can't help but imagine that he would miss you.  That perhaps he also had feelings of affection towards you, tucked closely and hidden where your radar couldn't detect.

  
You like to think that, at your funeral, he would take your hand in his and mumble useless words of prayer that would bring tears to his eyes. He'd know by then that it certainly wasn't pressure that les to your death, but something much more. Something that would make him wish he had gotten to know you.

You're not sure if that thought scares or excites you.

  
Regardless or not, your depression has not hit the stage yet where you wish you could die.  L has warned you about it countless times, but the demon itself has yet to show.

  
In the end, you'll do the best you can.  If all else fails, you'll think of Mello holding your hand, and allow the darkness to take you away.

  
Because what's truly a better way to go than accepting your fears?

 


End file.
